You Make Me Smile
by TwistedSky
Summary: Set around Night of Neglect. Santana is ridiculously happy for some reason, and Sam helps her figure out why.


Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, nor do I particularly wish to, though sometimes I want to bash my head against a wall because of some of the choices they make. Oh, and Santana doesn't understand double rainbows particularly well.

XXXXXX

"Stop touching me," she practically hisses. It's the kind of thing you _say._

Or, well, no it isn't, but he's Sam and she's Santana, and this is how it works.

She nods slightly to herself before realizing that she's in public and that's silly and people must think she's crazy.

At that she flips back her hair and smiles. Screw the haters. She _is _crazy.

She thinks about Karofsky—that fucking douchebag. She thinks about how for a brief moment she'd felt . . . _happy _threatening him.

Happy is _hard._

She hasn't been happy in a really long time, and it's ridiculous for her to be happy over telling off Karofsky. But she is.

She forces back her sigh and turns slightly to Sam and wonders why he sat down next to her—though she supposes they're still dating. She also wonders if he'd know why she's happy—a completely irrational thought because she's still not quite sure if she is actually happy _and_ there's absolutely no reason why _Sam_ would know.

He's kind of smart though. And cute. In a weird sort of way, even though he has those froggy lips—which honestly aren't even half as bad as she makes them out to be. They're kind of cute, actually.

She sees Sam tilt his head slightly towards her.

He doesn't smile, and he seems a little nervous, like he's expecting her to shower razor blades down upon him or something—though he doesn't know about the razor blades(and what she'd told Karofsky was only _partially _true).

She realizes that Mercedes is getting ready for her moment in the spotlight and she tells herself to look away.

She hears the first verse, and she can't move her eyes away from his.

It's awful. (It's really not.)

He finally smiles, and she forces back the smile that threatens to brighten her eyes and curve her lips.

She honestly can't remember the last time she really _smiled._ She smirks a lot, she fakes smiles, and being a Cheerio had trained her in the art of the 'overly perky cheerleader smile that slightly makes you think she's about to turn psycho and kill you in your sleep.'

At that she thinks about that silly song, the "I will kill you in your sleep, so you better keep awake" one that she can never remember who sings.

She feels Sam reach for her hand and squeeze it.

She turns away, but does not remove her hand from his.

Her eyes shine, her lips curve into a smile, and she lets herself enjoy a brief moment of happiness while Mercedes finishes her badass performance.

XXXX

She's happy inside, jumping around, bouncing with energy—mostly nervous and a little confused.

Not even seeing Brittany all over Artie brings her down from this high.

She somehow loses Sam after the show, and that's okay.

They haven't really spent much time together—just a makeout here and there and a trip to the mall, yada yada. There may have been a trip to an amusement park at one time—but only because it had been a group thing and Brittany had been there.

She is _never_ doing that again.

She shudders slightly and is surprised to feel a jacket settle around her shoulders.

She turns her head slightly. "Hello Mr. Emcee."

"Hey," he's holding her slightly, and she doesn't let herself sink against him, though she wants to. _No_. No she doesn't. That's ridiculous. He's just a stupid boy.

He leans his cheek against hers and she lets him. "That was awesome," she says.

"Yup." They just stand there for a moment, because no one is watching, and somehow that makes this moment seem so incredibly private that it's okay for her to be a _little_ weak. Just a little. He sighs. "I heard what you did for Kurt and Blaine. That was pretty cool."

She stiffens. "What did you hear?"

"The truth."

She pulls away, shrugging his jacket off onto the floor careless, as if to say, 'Your jacket means nothing, you mean nothing'—but it's not really quite true.

She has no one. She has nothing.

And he's here.

But it's not just like he's her last resort, it's more than that. He has not abandoned her, has not cheated, hasn't taken her crap, and yet hasn't left her.

People _always_ leave, so she doesn't know how to react to that.

"It was fun," she admits, because it's not like she has anything to lose.

He smiles at her, and she stares at him. "What are you staring at?"

"You. You're happy."

She glares at him. "You can't prove that." He can't. Obviously. More importantly she wants to know how he knows that.

He simply shrugs, picking up his jacket.

"I don't know why—" she blurts out suddenly. "I mean, I'm—I don't know. Kurt and Blaine are good guys, and Karofsky's a douchebag."

"But it's not enough?" Sam finishes for her. "It's not enough to make you happy? I think—wait, do you want to know what I think?"

It's a test.

"Yes," she says. She's impatient.

He doesn't say anything, just stands there as if he's deep in thought.

She almost threatens to cut his hair with kiddie scissors if he doesn't explain _now._

He saves his hair—something she decides she'll probably never tell him, because it makes her sound a little . . . just weird really—"I think you like them. You want friends, and you respect Kurt and Blaine, and you wanted to help them."

"But—"

"Shh, Santana."

He places his finger up against her lips, and she realizes how close they're standing, and briefly considers seducing him—she's kind of a little horny, conflict does that to her.

"You helped your friends. So you're happy. And you're here, with Glee Club, with people you love. And that is why you're happy."

Santana feels a bit like a sputtering fish out of water. She kind of likes that he gets it though. It's sweet. Nice. He _gets_ it. She stares at him in slight shock.

Sam just smiles. "It's true."

"Oh," she says. She tries to breathe as Sam leans forward and strokes her cheek with his thumb before kissing her softly.

It's like rainbows. It's like vomiting freaking rainbows.

But not in a sickening sort of way. She's kissed a lot of guys before, and a lot of girls too, and even Sam before . . . but this is different.

It's like . . . a double rainbow.

He pulls away, and she looks up at him, and she swears she sees his eyes twinkle.

She realizes that there's a reason she'll never be a poet, so she doesn't try to use her words, or to think about his 'twinkling eyes' but instead just kisses him again.

He smiles goofily, a little dazed.

She wonders if she looks the same way—she thinks she doesn't, but she does—and a silly smile is all over her face—but it feels soul deep or something. Like she's just _smiling_ with everything she is, but that sounds ridiculous.

It also feels true.

"You have a beautiful smile," Sam whispers softly.

"You do too," she leans up and pinches his cheek, "For a guy with froggy lips."

She captures his lips with her own again, cutting off a retort that was bubbling up.

She goes home alone that night, but with the silliest smile on her face, that lasts for a while.

For about as long as it takes for her to fall in love with Sam.

And then it drops away, only to be replaced with an even happier grin when he loves her too.

XXXX

"It's like a double rainbow," she says, feeling weird and emotional one day.

He adopts a mock Inigo Montoya accent and says, "I do not think that means what you think it means."

She laughs-a deep, soulful sort of laugh. "Probably not, but do you know what this means?" She unbuttons her shirt slowly.

He smiles. "I think I get the idea," he pulls her quickly towards him, eliciting a silly giggle and a squeal.


End file.
